s amazing chances to the
bold. And, even as she made her decision, she was aware of a dark
shadow lurking at the back of her mind, the shadow of the fear which
she knew was awaiting her. For she was going into the unknown with a
man whom she hated, a man who claimed to be her lover.

It was the bravest thing I have ever heard of, and I have lived my life
among brave men.

'I will come with you,' she said. 'But you mustn't speak to me, please.
I am tired and troubled and I want peace to think.'

As she rose weakness came over her and she swayed till his arm caught
her. 'I wish I could let you rest for a little,' he said tenderly, 'but
time presses. The car runs smoothly and you can sleep there.'

He summoned one of the servants to whom he handed Mary. 'We leave in
ten minutes,' he said, and he went out to see to the car.

Mary's first act in the bedroom to which she was taken was to bathe her
eyes and brush her hair. She felt dimly that she must keep her head
clear. Her second was to scribble a note to Wake, telling him what had
happened, and to give it to the servant with a tip.

'The gentleman will come in the morning,' she said. 'You must give it
him at once, for it concerns the fate of your country.' The woman
grinned and promised. It was not the first time she had done errands
for pretty ladies.

Ivery settled her in the great closed car with much solicitude, and
made her comfortable with rugs. Then he went back to the inn for a
second, and she saw a light move in the _salle-a-manger_. He returned
and spoke to the driver in German, taking his seat beside him.

But first he handed Mary her note to Wake. 'I think you left this
behind you,' he said. He had not opened it.

Alone in the car Mary slept. She saw the figures of Ivery and the
chauffeur in the front seat dark against the headlights, and then they
dislimned into dreams. She had undergone a greater strain than she
knew, and was sunk in the heavy sleep of weary nerves.

When she woke it was daylight. They were still in Italy, as her first
glance told her, so they could not have taken the Staub route. They
seemed to be among the foothills, for there was little snow, but now
and then up tributary valleys she had glimpses of the high peaks. She
tried hard to think what it could mean, and then remembered the
Marjolana. Wake had laboured to instruct her in the topography of the
Alps, and she had grasped the fact of the two open passes. But the
Marjolana m